


The Storm Inside. The Calm Outside.

by SpiritGazer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritGazer/pseuds/SpiritGazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The struggle inside the mind of a nameless young man. The fight to question if he truly is good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm Inside. The Calm Outside.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightWalker83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightWalker83/gifts), [YangWinchestette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YangWinchestette/gifts), [ClockworkStoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkStoryteller/gifts), [DanDreiberg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanDreiberg/gifts).



A young man laid in bed alone. The world almost oblivious of his existence. A single light outside glimpsed into the room that night. The lights were all off, though his eyes adjusted to long to the night. Nothing seemed to move in the small, almost empty bedroom. Even his chest barely rose with each breath. The only sound was the patter of rain on the roof. Then the first crack of thunder. He saw no flash from the lightning, though the thunder did not startle him. He was too numb for that. Beyond numb. All of his worst fears were playing out in his mind again tonight. The lack of text or phone calls today. No one had sent even a "Hi" to him.

 

He knew the real reasons. His girlfriend was busy today, going to be away from her phone. Close friends at work or school or some other reason. Instead of the truth, his mind danced shadows across the ceiling. People being glad to not talk to him. The annoyed voice of his best friend hoping to not talk today. The tired voice of his love telling her phone that today she doesn't want to hear his complaints. All the possible scenarios played out. All ending in his friends and family wanting nothing to do with him. Somehow, each one made sense. Too much complaining. Too much sadness in his life. Too much asking personal questions.

 

"No one wants to hear how my day was. Even worse, if they wanted me to know how their day was, they would tell me." He told himself. The shadows seem to smile at him. The slow twist of the knife in his mind began again. Soon his mind would imagine the conversations. His family being ashamed to be related to such a failure. His friends done listening to a few details of his bad day. His own girlfriend telling him she doesn't want to know what he thinks or feels. All these muddled thoughts spun and spun till the web grew so thick he couldn't see a way out. Then it appeared. A single glint in front of his face. A knife, sitting on the bed stand, reflecting the light of the lamp outside. Calmly his hands reached out. He could cut the web. Try to break through the shell. But what if it was too thick? What if it was so much to hack and slash that he would tire out before he could break free?

 

The shadows presented option two. A small motion on the wrist. Then passing the blade to the other hand and repeating the process. Two small motions and then a painless fade to black. So easy. So much simpler. And it would remove him from everyone else's life. His greatest gift was his absence. A small little voice in his head told him to say no. To resist the shadow. To cut the web and fight on through. The little voice told him it was paranoia. It was delusions. Nothing he imagined was true. The voice told reminded him of the good he does others. How people confided in him. Trusted him with their secrets. Asked for his help when they were down. It talked about the promises so many people made. To be there, to be open, and to be caring to him when he needed help. The trust he built was both ways. They were just as eager to be his rock. His comfort. His shoulder to cry on when the monsters came at night.

 

Then the shadows played out again. The laughter, twisted and jeering. The lies. No one actually cared. People said that to make him happy. To keep him around. To use him up and throw him out when he had no use. The shadows knife twisted further and dared to suggest that his only purpose in life was to be the example of what worthless and pointless was. Inside him welled a hopelessness like no other. It rose up and bubbled and churned and became a monster. A black, oozing, seething beast with one intent. To take that knife and bleed him like a pig.

 

The small voice tried to tell him it wasn't true. It tried to remind him of the value everyone placed on him. It fought and fought and pleaded that he not give up. Then the shadow crept in on the voice. It took one large clawed hand and engulfed it. One swift motion and it was gone. The man lay there. No coach to cheer him on. No outside help telling him it will be O.K. Just him and the shadow. He found himself reaching up. The blade catching the light and showing him his eyes. Then he raised him other arm and slowly pulled up his sleeve. The blade inched its way over to his wrist. The shadow seemed to give a laugh as the blade came closer and closer. He could feel the cold steel first make contact without breaking the skin. Then he paused. The little voice gave out one last squeak. That the person he needed to stop listening to was himself. Then the shadow cringed as it took on his own form. The shadow was merely being cast from the man, and the web of lies disappeared. The man stood up to face his own shadow. He raised up the blade, looked once again at his wrist, and put the knife down. "I do matter. I just need to look beyond my own shadow to see what I do." Then it went away. The knife in his mind was pulled out, though the scar was still there. A perfect guide where to put the blade back in. But tonight the man and avoided the fatal decision.


End file.
